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The issuing of these Poems is primarily a labor of 
love, suggested by the publisher's admiration for them 
and his friendship with the Poet who composed them. 
Copies of the book can be had by mail or through book- 
sellers at fifty cents each. Others like it in form will be 
brought out from time to time, and four will be bound 
together in cloth, 200 pp., beautifully illustrated, at $2.00, 
post-paid. The photograph is kindly furnished by Mr. 
Eugene Stratton. 



IV 



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iuRSARY of O0«wrt£vo^! 
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JUL 16 l«Ob 

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COPYBIQHT, 1908, BY PAUL SHIVXXiX. 






FKE8S OF 

TTNITED BBETHBEN PUBLISHING HOUSE 

DAYTON, OHIO 



VI 



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Sacred to the memory of our sweet Aunt Sarah, who was 
born in this beautiful Stillwater Valley, and who here grew 
to womanhood and was married to the great-hearted Doc^r, 
Uncle Horatio, of blessed memory. He was her devoted 
companion through a long and useful Christian life. Their 
earnest hearts were given humbly to the service of God; 
at home, in the careful rearing of their children, and in 
liberally entertaining friends and strangers; in the church, 
side by side worshiping their Maker they testified to the 
grace of Jesus Christ, ever seeking to win by timely word 
and by exemplary discipleship the erring back to the nar- 
row path of rectitude and humility; in politics, as cru- 
saders, they pioneered together in the long unpopular war 
of righteousness against organized iniquity, heroically with- 
standing the traffic in intoxicating liquors now held every- 
where in contempt, and, praise God, soon to be abolished. 
They never tired of proving themselves friends of the poor 
and the unfortunate, but relieved their sufferings and 
distress with that compassionate simplicity which makes 
giving a joy and receiving a permanent benefit to the 
needy. They had no crimes to hide. Their benevolence 
was modest and sincere. What they did for others was 
done unto Him who died for all, and who prayed that all 
men might be one, even as he was one with the Father. 

From the time of her happy marriage until last summer 
she never had seen the old homestead where she played 
with her gentle brother Joseph, and where her elder 
brothers, particularly William, my mother's father, in- 
structed her in classical learning. In the holy atmosphere 
of that home, how naturally were the calm and gracious 
manners of the strict old-fashioned parents handed down to 
their children; and how complacently after them did the 
little mother rule in her own home amid the many demands 
of modern life, where all was serenity and order, without 
that painful preciseness so abhorrent to children. 

Shortly before her departure to that better home, whither 
fihe so confidently kept her hopes, while on her last visit to 
us, she seemed desirous once again to see the old farmhouse, 
the wide prospects from the hill where it stands, and the 
little bedroom of her girlhood. We drove down the valley 

vii 



to the home place, now occupied by strangers, good, kind, 
honest people, and for the first time in over fifty years she 
allowed herself, the last survivor of a noble pioneer family, 
to look from a new generation back upon those quiet scenes 
made sacred by precious associations. The view seemed 
not to make her sad. She had lived many cheerful years 
in accepted bereavements far above all sentimental sorrow. 
She seemed, however, satisfied. Perhaps she was rather 
silent about her thoughts; but whatever the secrets of 
her heart, they were sacred, and we loved her, and talked 
of other matters. 

This was but a few months ago. Her mortal body is 
now at rest beside her faithful husband's, and among the 
graves of children and of neighbors who had preceded her. 
She had survived her first-bom child half a century. She 
used to tell me how tenderly she loved it still, and how 
fresh in her memory were all its little ways, and how its 
voice sometimes spoke to her heart. She told me of beauti- 
ful angelic Katie, of Iddings, her manly boy! The waiting 
is over now. Her sad, sweet mother, crippled from early 
life, who bore up so many years under bodily pain; her 
proud-spirited father, always polite and generous; her 
brothers and sisters, intelligent, poetic souls, her own 
genial Doctor; her many, many friends — she recognizes 
them all; and she is theirs forever. Most thrilling to her 
heart is her Savior, the Heavenly Bridegroom's voice, his 
welcome as he speaks to her in God's presence of threescore 
years well spent in humane labors upon earth for him. On 
her head is the Crown of Life, in her hands the Instru- 
ment of Praise. The Light of Heaven hides her from our 
mortal eyes. But she is the same beautiful Aunt Sarah still, 
even as when a little maiden she would empty the whisky 
jugs from which the harvest hands drank, and would fill 
them with water at the spring. No one thought of blaming 
her for anjrthing she did: it was all done so gently, and 
with such deep solicitude for others* welfare. 

Meantime, this, too, is God's world, every old familiar 
field and fence-corner, every kitchen and parlor and bed- 
room; and we are all and each his well-beloved children. 
He will continue to care for us and for our beloved; and 
we, too, will soon go home to him. Be it our con- 
solation, dear hearts who honor the memory of our 
sweet Aunt Sarah, to live as she lived, and so to 
be able in our old age to look back upon these happy 
scenes without regret, and with a pure and trustful heart. 



@)tiUU)atct 

Stillwater, on thy mirror'd banks. 

Maiden and youth, my Love and I, 
Oft from, the old wood's broken ranks 

Watch'd o'er the lake the evening sky. 
Tranquilly flowed thy current by. 

We scarce could deem it was a river. 
Where Heaven, that look'd so still and high. 

Seemed deepening in thy depths forever! 

Oft, on a mild, sweet Sabbath hour. 

We wander'd there, two happy lovers, 
Down woodland paths, through fields in flower. 

Where bees buzzed round the drooping clovers. 
Curtained in green bird-haunted nook, 

Beneath an aged sycamore. 
We read sweet poems from a book. 

And sang beside thy sacred shore. 

The sun declined, the landscape blush'd. 

And droop'd in its luxuriant beauty; 
High overhead the leaves were hushed; 

And bells came from the distant city. 
Along the gravel clutch'd the roots 

Of elms that lean'd out o'er the water. 
And swept the lovers who in boats 

Oar'd gurgling through their shade with laughter. 

Lightly the ripples wash'd the grass; 

And lighter, swifter dipt the swallow. 
The widening wake would curve and pass. 

And sympathetic silence follow; 



Till up and down thy golden stream. 
In the dark woods and still reflections. 

The deepening picture, like a dream. 
Grew Eden-old in all directions. 

Mysterious feelings, with the night. 

Crept o'er us, sitting there together; 
The ancient stars grew young and bright: 

We seem'd to understand each other. 
And when at last we rose to go. 

She gave me something for a token; 
Long as thy whispering waters flow. 

Our promises will ne'er be broken. 

Slow since, through unjust penury. 

Far from thy scenes we 've toil'd and blundered; 
And, praying men might soon be free, 

The Truth we 've taught, and seen dishonor'd. 
And Oh! may He who loves us all 

Come quickly, and abide forever. 
That on the human race may fall 

The beauty of the woods and river. 



Contents 



Evening Frontispiece 

Sarah Iddings Hall VII 

Stillwater IX 

Home 13 

Of a Bumble-Bee 15 

May 16 

Seedtime 17 

Wood Violets 17 

June 18 

Covington Farms 21 

On Finding a White Thistle Blossom 22 

To a Morning Glory 23 

September in the Country 34 

The Blacksmith 35 

Autumn Reverie 36 

The Golden Summer Clouds. 40 

Winter Morning 41 

The Seasons 42 

Toil 44 

The Song Sparrow 45 

Envoy 46 



This mild and lengthening winter's day. 

Thy hand in mine, fond arm in arm. 
We We walk'd and watch'd our children play 

About your old grandfather's farm. 
And dearly for thy gentle sake 

I love these fields thy feet have pressed; 
Oft wish'd that we might here betake. 

And from our wanderings find rest. 

This rill that babbles at our feet. 

Child of the disappearing snow. 
Will with its flashing sisters meet. 

And join the brook that brawls below. 
Birds flit the naked trees among. 

Warming them, Love, with dreams of Spring; 
Soon life will find a joyous tongue, 

And all exultant nature sing. 

Stillwater down her valley moves. 

Among her ghostly sycamores; 
She winds through many leafless groves. 

And listens by her quiet shores. 
The hills beyond are blue and bright 

That bound Miami's wakening vale; 
The city, in the pale sunlight. 

Smokes and resounds her busy tale. 

Of some we speak who are not here; 

And some have changed for good or iU. 
For all we lift our hearts in prayer; 

Though some forget we love them still. 
Fair city, thou imperfect Gem, 

Imperfect as thy dwellers be. 
Oft have we long'd for thee and them. 

And here to walk, O God, with Thee! 

13 



What prospects from what hills we 've seen I 

What joy have felt! what pain relieved. 
Yet come we where most poor we Ve been^ 

And oft for slighted love have grieved. 
With patience now and fortitude. 

Devotion that no ill can shock. 
We walk again this ancient wood. 

And sit upon this fallen oak. 

The noble prospect from this seat 

Is like the outlook of our days. 
Though we descend, as it is meet, 

'T is with more lofty love and praise. 
Some seek position, some repose. 

Some seek the Father, or a friend. 
As the confined and sickly rose 

Still upward toward the light will tend. 

But we who in that Light do dwell. 

And strive therein with human love. 
Are ever glad the Truth to tell. 

And glad to learn and onward move. 
Through poverty that men despise. 

And loneliness that many fear. 
We reach the quiet of the skies, 

And walk with God forever there. 

Oh, could I teach my f ellowmen 

The dignity of simple truth! 
As, Father, I believe I can. 

Through confident, eternal youth. 
Life giveth Life, all words are dead; 

Behold, I give myself to all. 
Make me Thy sacred wine and bread, 

From Heaven Thy living waterfall! 



14 



fl)f a iBnmblt^TStt 

I found a wounded bumble-bee, 
Resplendent in the sun and dew, 

Where Morning fills our woods and della 
With flowers of every hue. 

Its form that clung to jewell'd grass 

Might pictures and sweet poems surpass. 

*^ich dweller of this clovery farm," 
Quoth I, "what may thy trouble be? 

The breeze is light, the hour is warm, 
No grievous wound I see. 

My heart is full of love and pleasure. 

Gladly I 'd spare a little measure." 

But no, it could not speak nor hear; 

It only buzz'd its useless wings; 
So beautiful, so full of fear. 

Like all wild woodland things. 
Its honeyed odor and bronze noise 
Waked in my soul a thousand joys. 

While to a dry weed stalk it clung, 
Which in my hand I sway'd and held. 

Through its aeolean wings low sung 
The foaming breeze^ — ^then stilled. 

Its marvelous pinions had no power 

To carry it from flower to flower. 

On moss-gray stone I left it then; 

For men must work, like other bees. 
Anon I came that way again 

Beneath the leafing trees. 
The sun shone warm in that green place; 
My bee was gone, and left no trace. 

15 



Golden, golden, on the green. 
Come with me and crown my queen! 
Ye shall circle her dark hair. 
Rich I '11 bind you in with care, 
Mix'd with violets and grasses, 
While the noon cloudshadow passes. 
Clovers red and white and pink. 
Like the tender thoughts we think, 
With the pleasant hours inwove, 
When we think on those we love. 

Yellow, violet and white, 
Gathered for my love's delight. 
Now I '11 go and, happy lover! 
Crown her with my wreath of clover. 
Picked in fields where cows and sheep 
Crop the flowers in shadows deep. 
If she meets me at the gate, 
Full of fun, my modest mate. 
She will yield her lips provoking 
To her swain, if no one 's looking. 

Happy, happy night and day. 
With our babes we romp and play. 
In the house and round the table. 
At the barn and in the stable; 
Working, laughing, reading books, 
Wandering by the waterbrooks, 
Joyous praises all day long 
Bubbling from our hearts in song ; 
Noble thoughts in deeds expressed. 
Pensive peace and quiet rest. 



16 



SeeDtfme 

We harrow'd the sandy bottom lands, 
The horses and I, with the harrow's hands; 
With the harrow^s fingers we fingered it over. 

And claw'd it up, and dragged it down, 
To sow a field of grass and clover, 

Far from the city, in sight of the town; 
In sight of the quiet country village, 

Near the pasture lowland that smelleth sweet. 

With open bosom and naked feet 
I followed the harrow and waded the tillage. 
Back and forth, back and forth, 
Gee-ing south, and gee-ing north. 
With now a pause and welcome rest 
For enraptured poet and patient beast. 

A lark mounts up where the rosebrier bends. 
And over the meadow rising and falling, 
A voice out of the distance calling. 

Into a neighboring farm descends. 

There on her nest he findeth his mate; 

And mine will be in the lane at the gate; 

The little ones on the team will ride, 

And I '11 go home with them by her side. 



When from hot fields the violets fade. 

To the cool thicket I repair; 
Pale, bosom'd in its quiet shade, 

I find them blooming freshly there. 
And oh, to me all flowers are fair! 

Each insect in the tangled grass. 
And every bough that waves in air 

Delights me with its wondrousness. 

17 



June 

At eunxise, while I bathed myself, I sang I 

Whistled and sang! that joyous was my soul. 

Round our green valley home vocals, loud-warbling. 

Kept musical the groves that grow and wave 

All summer their noble branches to and fro 

Above the running waters. Pastoral scenes! 

From which I reap no ill, which everywhere 

Greet me like children in whose merry midst 

I dwell forever welcome, how at dawn. 

When I awake, ye thrill me with delight! 

Warm summer winds, familiar old playmates! 

What natural sights and sounds, what breath of flowers. 

What wholesome odors from the woods and fields 

Ye waft against my body as I bathe. 

Coaxing me come and play! Clear bubbling springs. 

Eager to wet the meadows, gurgle ever 

Over your pebbly beds and mossy falls. 

Carrying dew all night for graceful grassy. 

Cool drink all day for cattle! Boy, barefoot. 

Whistling, I forth did step with lightest heart, 

A bright tin pail in either hand, and love 

For every life, to milk my cows at dawn. 

Dew sparkled on green groundbine blue with bloom. 

Geranium-leaved and scented; calamus. 

Mid odorous mints, where all day long the bees 

Worry the gentle clovers with deep kisses; 

And simples of all families, rich florals. 

Blended their perfume© with the mists of night 

Delaying in the valley. As I waded. 

Each prospect, each dear scene as I look'd back. 

With all their many hues to perfect forms 

Harmoniously wedded, waked in me 

Hopes confident and pure, that I, a child, 

A happy child, might settle here and grow 

And serve my Maker, His contented bard, 

18 



Not wishing fame, nor from these quiet scenes 
Desiring, as I sometimes do, to hasten 
On far endeavors bent in distant lands, 
Whereto I was not born. Safer are calFd 
To be Christ's far-dispersed messengers. 
More equally-proportioned than I, 
Though willing, ever proved myself to be. 
Here I '11 bear witness to that Love I feel, 
Walking with Him at home in pastures green, 
Beside Stillwater, in this pleasant valley. 
Yet would I go, God knows my heart is true ; 
Yet would I go as gladly as I stay. 

Slow, lovingly by limpid streams I lingered, 

Throbbing with simple pleasure, loath to leave 

Each mirrored scene, each petal'd constellation, 

Or weed, or grass, yet eagerly the next 

Seeking, and for delicious hues alert. 

Or heavenly form transcendent, till I came. 

By the brook's windings led, through thickets yonder 

Where cattle grazed. There a green-legged heron 

Squawk'd awkward larum, with long dangling legs 

Flapp'd through the willows toward the river bottoms, 

And disappeared in rushes, vine-festoons 

And overhanging leaves! Minnows are there. 

There buzzards, wheeling high in air like eagles, 

Soar round and round and out of sight all day. 

Roosting at night in those tall sycamores 

That screen Stillwater. 

Soon white and singing streams 
At pressure forth from full warm udders gush'd 
Fast in my foaming pails, while patient stood. 
Chewing the cud, our mild-eyed ministers. 
Or switch'd, or kicked at flies, endangering 
The milk and hindering the happy milker, 

19 



Who with a thousand senses, so it seem'd, 
Felt every blade of grass, each drop of dew. 
And drank the rich aroma from the milk. 
And even loved those poor dumb cows themselves. 

Thus had I finished my belated task, 

And picking up my pails had started off 

Homeward, to strain the milk in cool springhouse. 

When, waking from deep thought, I paused, and look'd. 

And there in shade where woodland violets lingered 

A little calf I spied, not two hours old. 

Lying among the flowers like a fawn; 

And not far off, still, as to hide herself. 

The anxious mother cow instinctively 

Stood waiting till I pass'd. In a safe shadow 

Setting my pails, I stopped a while to see. 

Then home, I strain'd the milk into clean crocks. 

Set it in water, and our Mamma dear 

Came with the little boy and girlie down 

To see the calfie-cow. Now I confess. 

If there is anything I most enjoy. 

And I enjoy most everything that 's good, 

'Tis the companionship of little children. 

When I can show them something wonderful. 

Or follow them, and be a child with them. 

And what more entertaining, what more fun 

To children's happy hearts than calves and colts, 

And little pigs, and lambs, and pups, and mice. 

And every nursling in whose helplessness 

They take such innocent delight, not knowing 

As we do, any thought of the real care 

Which is so apt to mar the joy we feel. 

Ardie, our stalwart hand, was plowing com 

Up yon hill field near by, and happening down 

To drink there at the spring, seem'd not less pleased. 

20 



He in his strong arms bore the limberlegs 
Across the brook and stood it by its dam 
To see if it would suck. It wabbled round, 
Half blind, on its unsteady props, but soon 
Bumping the place, took hold, and wagg'd its tail, 
Hunching, though there was plenty and to spare; 
And every time it hunch'd it lost its hold, 
And stagger'd round, hunting, much to the delight 
Of the children! So when we all had seen, and all 
Had laugh'd again, and I the gentle cow 
Had carefully relieved, and once, once more 
The calf was stroked and petted by the children. 
We left it in the shade there with its mother, 
Lying beside the brook in the deep grass. 



CoiJington JFatmg 

Fair fields of Covington, 

By deep Stillwater's side. 
This day I first beheld the sun 

Stream o'er your landscapes wide. 

Contented lay the peaceful farms, 
From lingering forests won; 

For praise of thee my bosom warms, 
Fair fields of Covington! 

To-day I saw where Annie dwelt. 
Sweet Annie whom I knew. 

When she, a farmer's blushing bride, 
Came here to dwell with you. 

Both womanly and fair she was. 
Both strong and fair to see. 

And here, among these happy scenes. 
Well might her homestead be. 

21 



Her children run about the place. 

They play beside the door. 
But I did not see the friendly face. 

And will hear her voice no more. 

It seem'd her gentle soul was form'd 
For a peaceful life like this; 

But happier is her present state. 
Where every breath is bliss. 

Hay holiest companionships. 

As God Himself, I pray. 
Be kind to all whom Annie loved. 

And bless them on their way. 

That she whose constancy they knew 
May lure their steps toward Heaven, 

A ^ardian angel wise and true. 
In tenderest foresight given. 



fl>n JFinDtng: a mfyitt €^istlt TSlossiom 

As if a white-soul'd acorn burst in bloom, 
Or fay's pineapple from its prickly tomb 
Sent forth a spray-like flower of bright foam! 

I never saw a thistle white as snow; 
But God is able thus to make it grow; 
And we of God learn everything we know. 

Thanks to the Father Who instructs His child 
With leaves and flowers that He makes grow wild 
In native elegance and beauty mild. 

Praise Him for Knowledge, and such ignorance, too; 
For Earth, where each day we learn something new; 
Praifie Him for this white thistle that here grew. 

22 



Co a horning <$lorp 

Frail splendor, of most blue, most delicate tissue, 

O vine-bom lily by this crystal spring! 

Bright oreole, or violet-blooded moon-blossom, 

What words can match thy beauty, or contain, 

Though in themselves most pure, thy gentle grace? 

When maidens with their lovers hand in hand. 

Conversing pleasantly beneath the stars. 

Beguile these summer nights, they, flowers themselves, 

On their warm constant bosoms blooms may wear 

Less worthy such high honor than thou whose life. 

Like Effie's, brief as pure, will with the mom 

Have perished. Thee I dream'd last showery sunset 

My spiral shell, toy of the flying spray. 

Here toss'd wave-tinted on the strand, to ope 

A blue sea-flower, that could not, dungeoned 

In watery cloisters of enchanted deep, 

Unbosom her chaste thoughts wherewith she now 

Surprises the attentive silences 

Of nature. These, my green wet caves, did glitter 

As if in bloom with raindrops ; and the stars 

Caused them to sparkle, while the mother Night 

Gathered the mists and hung them tenderly 

In myriad globes of water on the grass. 

Till aU the hills and woods and valleys waked 

And shone, as though a world of dazzling gems 

Were island in a sea of light. Then all 

Went slowly up dissolved in mist, made clouds. 

And sail'd away in moming-color'd fleets 

Before the breath of Summer; and I turned 

To thee, sweet glory of the dawn, ere Bay 

Should fold thee up, a precious womb of seeds, 

To bear another Summer other flowers, 

Whose likeness to thyself, thou being virgin, 

23 



Will perfect be, as theirs to them, and so 
Till other Poets come and celebrate 
More tenderly thy beauty. 

These pearl walls, 
That cherish'd thy young soul, and now, star-spread, 
Eeveal their treasure, through unfolding curves, 
Childlike their secret hue did innocently 
Suggest; and here each perishable grace. 
Whose dear returning charms anticipation 
Could not repicture perfectly, are mine. 
But Oh ! too heavenly thy beauty is. 
With all it shadows forth, hither to be. 
As There, enjoy'd. My Master, in those years 
Of mortal life which to mankind (Himself 
The Lily of our yearnings after God) 
He gave, taught first what every lily-flower 
Might teach, did men but wonder what they taught. 
Did they but love the Hand That fashioned them. 
Whose mercies with the flowers and birds they share. 
And when all men are willing to become 
Incarnate Beauty, when the little child 
Eemains through life a little child, what seraphs, 
Though wiser, could be happier than we? 
From my lovers vine-clad cottage down this path. 
Which winds among the trees and through the morning. 
Our girlie girl, thirsting to sip, might pause. 
And with meek adoration worship Him 
Whose glorious veil ye are. Yesterday noon 
Thee watching, and thy sisters, Oh ! white-center'd 
And various in color, by each blush 
Guess'd I their unborn loveliness and thine; 
While every drooped leaf and folded flower 
Hung wet with clinging pearls. Kain fine as spray 
On grasses pendulant, and in the air 
A freshness, told the tale the flowers have told 

24 




Perennially for ages. But till Life 
Burst Death, or not a child in all the world 
Must weep for man's injustice, — ^till God's Day — 
My thirst thou canst not quench, true Holy Grail;, 
Goblet of liquid Summer, tilted and dripping. 
Of all Pan's flowery feast the crowning cup ! 

All that is good confirmeth what is best. 

Somewhat, fair lily, I have learn'd of thee. 

Thee and my own divine intelligence : 

Life will be beautiful when I am gone; 

And Where I go Life will be Beautiful. 

Who knows not this? for every rose proclaims it: 

And every bird and leaf and star proclaims it 

A thousand times thrice blessed will it seem 

To know all men are happy. But meanwhile 

I will be made as happy as on Earth 

A Poet, seeing so much woe, may be. 

What intuitions of Celestial Music 

Haunt this clear well ! Angels assemble, robed 

In colors like the delicatest blossoms. 

And in their long and noble Silences 

Attune to thee their sacred instruments. 

That unto God they might more strictly hymn 

Their heart-warm praises. For each perfect flower 

Doth seem to me the note whereto all Life 

Must key itself, to be in harmony 

With God, Who made them after His Own Joy, 

To be His representatives and lift. 

With floral music, all our aspirations 

Unto Himself. Unconsciously, earthchild. 

Thy life resembleth man's : from dread decay. 

By process hidden, to reach the light, and there 

To never-cloying melodies unfold. 

Fresh as when first in God's Conception clear 

25 



Ye bloomed, and with the rose in Paradise 

Sprang up untended, brightening since then 

How many a cottage dooryard! Happy flowers I 

I would be as ye seem, or yon blue sky. 

Or like these tinkling ripples wild I 'd be. 

Yet would not from mankind take apart 

My solitary liberation soft, 

But sternly, for man's full deliverance. 

In dauntless fellowship, with hand and heart 

I love and toil, helping to teach men grow 

Kelentless in their native honesty. 

sweet companionable morning glory! 
Oft dream I of blest friends, the Ocean Sea, 
Children and Poets who have journeyed wondering. 
And never, never may return to walk 

Beside Earth's Waters with me. Yet this breeze 
Brings morning freshness many a mile to me. 
And fans my homesick cheeks. Love-sent from Heaven, 
Whence thou dost seem. And such vast rolling clouds! 

1 know not where o'er my beloved Deep 

I e'er shall watch with transport like a child 

Clouds more sublimely fair! Only yestereen 

These groves were fountains, and rainbow and clouds. 

Gloriously shadow'd, through earth's rosy mists. 

Like snowy mountains changing to pure gold, 

Kear'd their magnificent scenery so high 

That the blue sky seem'd bluer than the sea. 

And infinitely deep and tender seem'd. 

Long time I stood and watch'd them, scarce embodied. 

Such rapture did my mind experience! 

In Nature's visible ascension grand, 

Material instance of the silent, slow. 

Divine unfolding process of All Things, 

Upswell'd before my soul God's Self-disclosure, 

Life's everlasting Apotheosis, 

26 



Beauty, Love's outward semblance, tangible Soul, 

Veiling the Secret of the Universe: 

Evolved, evolving still, still to evolve, 

Perpetual progress through Eternal Time. 

And Oh.! I thought thus must the soul of man 

Conceive its Maker and give birth to God. 

The spirit wakes refreshed and forth must fare 

New senses to unfold. The horizon still 

Kecedes. AH things must change and pass. But man, 

Beginningless and endless, for whose growth 

All things subsist, — O man, thou restless heaven ! 

Is it not worth all pains to ponder here 

Our daily lesson, and herein find hidden 

The still-evasive Mystery? 

Long I stood 
And watched them lay aside their golden garments, 
Receding dignity! divine portent! 
Looming all still out of my life, to come. 
As now to other eyes, forever changing. 
Yet like the twinkling stars, changeless forever. 
Their very fading thrill'd me. When from sight 
Behind the rolling world like sailing ships 
They hid themselves in darkness, and the night 
Gathered around me. Memory and Hope 
Awed my full heart with gratitude that I, 
Some day set free from mine unworthiness. 
Would be thus on my Journey Infinite, 
Whither Earth's visions beckon with their beauty 
Our clear-eyed Consciousness as heirs of All. 

In sleep the blessedness of having glimpsed 
What waits the watchful spirit in bright Realms 
Beyond our ken, like those remembered clouds. 
Faded into forgetfulness and rest. 
But ere I pass'd into that final state 

27 



Of sweet oblivious repose, I dreamed. 

Heav'd all about me great green swellful billows, 

That under violet skies the wild sea gull 

Follows on curling wing; while far o'er the blue, 

In slow procession with the summer clouds, 

White ships in shadow toward fair havens lean. 

Through sunbeams pass before those splendid fogs 

That roll along like chariots bearing 

To concourse mighty Spirits, followed, heralded. 

On where with gold and purple shadows kindle. 

Until they fade, and twilight o'er the deep 

Becomes darkness wide. Then the clear stars 

Take up their sparkling through the night; the sand. 

Left wet far up by the receding tide, 

Glimmers; and on its mirror lovers are walking. 

Between two Heavens filPd with shining stars. 

Listening to the sounding of the sea. 

Though all was but a fair far-inland dream. 

Like many a waking daydream to my soul 

It spake of what shall be by what hath been. 

Thee, frail, I love not less. Thou art to me 

A never tiresome symbol, ever new. 

Of heavenly perfection, here attain'd 

Through no display of intellectual strength, 

'Not grandeur, as of elements at war 

With elements. Ambition hath no place 

In God's most holy Presence. Babes and mothers. 

And among men ingenuous afPection, 

These, and not public prayers, are to our Father 

Acceptable, and thou inspirit these. 

Each lucent snow-white texture, each blue vein 

That from thy throat outcurveth into all 

This flood of color, hath its beauteous use. 

Argent stamens and pistil, a thrilling scene! 

With graceful pleasure wondrously express'd, 

28 



Though fragile. And thy cabn inverted image, 
Pale watery image, tenderly enshrined 
Among thy heart-shaped leaves,— how still-um-like 
Within this pool thou skyward pourest out 
Thy loveliness, as if yon drowned clouds 
Fill'd not from ether their vast billowy caverns. 
But from thy chalice, child of the sweet skies. 
Were there mermaidens in the waterworld. 
White-throated bell with snowy pendulums. 
How might they glide with solemn motion hither. 
And hearken to thy deep delicious purple. 
Chiming to morning worship in the grove 
Naiads and nymphs and satyrs crown'd with flowers. 

Early this mom, returning from the pasture. 

With full pails of warm milk, did I not spy, 

— Or was it fancy? — standing here in the dusk, 

A water sprite in misty draperies. 

Her unbound hair streaming about her shoulders. 

Gazing at thee, as if she wish'd with pain 

That she were half so beautiful? But so, 

When Eve in Eden first beheld thee blooming. 

She caird thee loveliest lily of the Garden. 

Herself, draped in the mists of maiden love. 

And showerM about with kisses of glad welcome. 

She had not been seen, and could not know how fair; 

Though she in brooks her wavering image held. 

As Dian bright uplifts her silver face 

Above the flood, and drives her slender hounds 

Afield, yet knows not how divine she seems ! 

And so methought my nymph stood, her fair hands 

Across her virgin breast, not seeing me. 

And lifting her sweet face as to be kissM, 

Her parted lips unto thy purple rim 

Touched lightly, as if quaffing jovial nectar. 

Entranced, I watch'd her changing, till the east 

29 



Her graceful form did slowly disenchant. 
And she became that fog which night by night 
Broods o'er this hallowed spring, but from the sun 
Slowly and almost imperceptibly 
Doth vanish, like my dream. 

But now farewell. 
Day wideneth. Thy death, by shades postponed. 
Can be postponed no longer. The sun's warmth 
Extendeth into shadows, and thy moments 
Are numbered. And how brief thy life hath been. 
Last night an angel's locket, pearl-inlaid, 
Dropt down from Heaven, a token of love to me; 
Now to the mom in all thy passionate blue. 
Soft-fluted with birth-folds, a breathing flower 
Thou art, O my beloved Queen of Flowers! 
Of all Love's royal thoughts their purple queen. 
Not that I think God cherishes one life 
Less than another, but that He ordain'd 
Bich differences, wherein we find pastime 
According to His Mind, and as we watch 
Are able to distinguish laws and systems, 
And more in thought resemble our Creator, 
Who made them, both for our instruction here. 
And for some secret infinite Design 
From whose variety and confidence 
They spring. And loving him, how can I, dear. 
But love thee? Not alone for thy chaste spirit. 
Fairest, through whose transparent temple walls 
The cheerful sunlight, welling, overfloweth 
In purple joy! but that thou yieldest back 
Thy beauty whence it came. I, too, must go. 
Whither no man can tell me, nor how soon. 
Back to my Father's House to dwell with Him. 
Whatever of His Goodness I receive 
Augments my joy, and will be bom Elsewhere, 

30 



An individual Spirit, hither known 

No more. There to develop and ascend. 

With Gertrude and our love-crown'd little ones. 

Dear friends of old, and of the New Creation, 

And from the Stars, innumerable Host! — 

Who knows how many bright, unbounded Ages? 

And with what growth of clear Intelligence? 

What never-ending Wonder? What Delight? 

For here each day are we not born again? 

And yet again ? Who but hath left some sin 

Behind his back forever? Yet who standeth 

Thence capable and finally approved 

In God's pure sight? Though there live honest men. 

Men can be more than men dream. Each rare moment 

To loving labor given I feel my hopes 

Drawn upward, and my confidence in God 

And in all human life strengthen'd. What thoughts 

Higher than these may in just years light up 

The darkness of mortality and lift 

Men's conversation Heavenward, God knoweth. 

Prophets who teach men freedom cannot guess 

To what high use the people will apply 

Their liberties, once they have been achieved. 

Neither the future nor the past belongs 

In any sense to any man; nor Earth, 

Nor smallest part thereof; but man himself 

Gt)d's child, and all that God to him hath given 

Belongs to God, and cannot be employed 

To thwart His deep foreknowledge, nor destroy 

One creature, nor undo what hath been done. 

Keep sweet from struggle, O my soul! The stars. 

Visible here, are yet more beautiful. 

Where, from the altitudes of Heaven, pure angels 

Behold them. 



31 



So be thou, my darling Dream, 
My slowly dying Splendor, so to me 
Be thou, that I, thy Lover, and thy Poet, 
May high Conceptions have of that Bourne whither 
In dreams I '11 think thee gone. There what true Friends 
Await me! What Divinities attend me! 
I am so glad the years have kept me still 
The simple child I was : have brought me back. 
Whenever I have wander'd, to a state 
Of asking innocence and wondering faith. 

And now I know the time to bid good-by 

Is almost here, and I must give thee up; 

Must look to God for similar delights 

Elsewhere, as bees their daily honey gather. 

Not from one flower only, but from many. 

And from all kinds. Would I coixld keep in mind^ 

When thou art gone, the happiness I feel. 

But then I fear I should have miss'd even thee. 

So full my heart, so tired my mind had been. 

So many flowers, and all flowers so fair. 

The world is full of interest, but pleasures 

Pade with the passing moments, and are gone. 

WTio can extend one joy beyond its hour. 

Or keep one posey fragrant without God? 

I did not hope to imprison in characters 

So lovely a creation, and therefore 

I have not fail'd. I only feel bereaved. 

This life, so transitory, breaks my heart. 

Indeed, my heart was sadden'd in the womb; 

And only spiritual aspirations. 

And loving hands, and tenderest of care. 

Have brought me to this hour, and now I know 

Will not forsake me, but will bear me up. 

And on, I know not wherefore, but shall know. 

As thou, being sweet, sweetenest my toil, 

32 --■' 



So I will nobler live, remembering thee. 

Who wast not studious to please, yet pleased me. 

Because thy life is as I would mine were: 

Perfectly pure, serenely beautiful. 

In full and free and grand accord with Life. 

Thy sunbom hummingbird hath flash'd away home; 
From flower to flower the black plush bumble-bee. 
Girding his yellow loins, hath plied his trade 
And left thee, as he leaves them all; but thou, 
Concern'd not for thy wealth, didst for a kiss. 
Without complaint, yield all thy treasured dew. 

How at the scarcest breath of noon thou flutterest 
Along thy filmy verge. This living mirror, 
Deep, still, seems not so sensitive. Nor moves 
Ah, to and fro more gently her slight wings 
Yon azured butterfly, where on a clover 
She sleeps, changing her blue to gold in the sun. 
Unconscious of the joy she gives, than thou, 
Thrill'd at each breathing of soft summer air. 
Yielding thy purple chalice to be kiss'd 
And folded, keepest in continual motion 
Round thy white-spired corolla. Font of Joy, 
The curtain that must hide thee soon forever. 

Now I must go about my noonday chores. 

The horses are in pasture with the cattle; 

The sheep are quiet in the orchard shade; 

And there is little to do; but I must go. 

Fade, I will not forget thee. Nor in Heaven, 

Where Morning Glories twine, and all things fair 

Have a perpetual beauty here unknown. 

Nor in whatever happy state I henceforth 

With all my fellows move will I forget 

Thy Message of Deliverance, from Him 

Who loves me. Whom I love, and soon shall see. 

33 



September in tbt Country 

This day of intermittent sun and shower. 

And oft when shower and sunlight veiled the hills, 

I sauntered, whistling cheerfully, and musing, 

Along green-shelter'd highways, cool with shadow, 

And out in the open country. Dear; there saw 

Homes, dovecote-like, in valley and on hillside, 

With gardens neat of flowers and vegetables. 

Old orchards leaning, the wet leaves and fruit 

Gay all in sun. But cheeriest next these 

Were little sparrow-birds that high on tips 

Of twined beanpoles perched in r^ular rows. 

Some chirping; and some stretched and dried their wings 

And bill'd their feathers carefully, and fluttered. 

As if it were as fair a day for them 

As any clear unclouded summer day. 

When I faced homeward, thou didst meet me, singing; 

As o^er the hills my glad footsteps I bent. 

Far here-away, down in the wooded valley 

Heard I thy sweet voice, birdlike, calling me, 

And almost ran home, though I fain had stayed 

To listen; but thine eyes I love to see. 

To hold thy hand, beside thee walk, and walking 

To hear thy voice. O Love! to worship God 

Out in the open air! along the road. 

To sing and lift the heart in grateful praise 1 

How like the happy little birds we feel! 

How as a spring our deeply-bubbling bosoms 

Well with immeasurable happiness, 

Fresh tribute glad to G<)d for all His wide 

Benevolence, and for sweet Life itself! 

I ask'd how fared our innocent little ones, 
Fair opening flowers, meek blossoms of our Love, 
Perennial seals to our Fidelity, 

34 



Oh, never to be broken! Lambs of God, 
That sleep so soundly, peacefully here now 
On our fond bosoms, where, before the Lord, 
We in our homely sanctuary sit 
With our inestimable sacrifice. 
Offering pure to Him, not as of old. 
But living, more acceptable with the Father, 
Who loves us, and before Whose equal eye 
All we are simple children. 

O Sweetheart! 
Here with thee, I am glad as any bird! 
Thine amiable character is to me 
Justification for continuing 

Happy on Earth, who fain would live here, there, 
And everywhere, but more than all, in Heaven. 
I am not worthy, nor, unglorified. 
Can hope to be; but these. Oh, these are worthy! 
Fresh images from Heaven of what God 
Would have us be at heart! Fair breathing flowers 
With petals folded for the night, to ope 
Refreshed at early dawn, to wake us. Love, 
With kisses fragrant! Happy nestlings yet. 
Wee birds of passage, soon to fly away. 
God keep them glad as little lambs at play. 



Clie TBIacftsmftfi 

Hark, hark, hark, hark, hark, brother! 
Hark, hark, hark, hark, hark, sister! 
Do you not hear the black, black, black, black, blacksmith 
Pound, pound, pound, pound, pounding upon hia anvil? 
Long, long, long, long, long, long, long may he 
Live with his children and 

Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound, pound, pound upon 
his anvil! 

35 



autumn Eetietie 

It is the season when wild morning glories 

Deck with curved foliage these stubble fields 

Where waved the yellow wheat, where shock'd ripe sheaves 

In sober beauty stood after full harvest, 

A picture of repose and of reward 

That comes of patient toil unto a life 

Justly obedient to beneficent 

And holy laws. Here from this tasseled maize 

The slender vines, twining, hold out bright cups 

And bind and beautify these peaceful blades 

With emblems of good will. The poet farmer 

Slays not such weeds, but grants them rightful place, 

Ornament of an inheritance historic. 

An old Ohio Eden, whose dear past 

Is twined about with many a loving heart 

Affectionate and simple, plain and true. 

Amid varieties of other tones, 

Greens and autumnal browns, they meekly trail 

Along the bare earth and about old stumps 

Their Heaven-suggesting gracefulness, redeeming 

With charity alike the outgrown past 

And bold, obtrusive present, offspring fair 

Of both, and of the ever-enduring sun. 

Appropriate your place, ye gentle flowers. 
Long years it waited for you and prepared 
Through ages of disintegrating rock. 
Of glacial torrents, of decaying moss. 
Up through the rise and fall of forests dim. 
Long time it waited for you: you are come. 
This bed of mould is your divine reception. 
Here bring forth beauty after your own kind, 
Sharing with other plant life and with man 
The long-stored-up resources of the West. 

86 



These rooted stumps yet show where stood tall, straight. 

Majestic trees, that set their trunks and tops 

Athwart man's onward march, a hundred years 

With lofty echoes mocking the swift ax, 

And stroke on stroke retelling! Woods were rolled 

In heaps and burn'd ! And still, even in my time, 

I well remember, as a little lad. 

In Perrin's being lost, where oft I 'd go. 

Drawn thither by that strong mysterious tie 

Which bound me to the past with all its toil. 

Its primitive sacrifices, its deep sorrows. 

And best of all, its hopes of a Better Life 

Beyond the grave. Oh, the vast shadov^y wood! 

How quiet was it there, and how content 

There did I feel, whose life, both sides, far back. 

Was in the conquering of such mighty hosiB 

Prepared for, while as yet such days as these 

Were but a dream, if in those busy years 

These days were even dream'd of, as no doubt 

They must have been, though not as now they prove. 

When their rich heirs can scarce keep pace with Time! 

So were the poets, the philosophers. 

The statesmen, and the teachers of the future 

Arranged for by those mothers in homespun 

At spinning-wheel and loom. And round the wide 

And roaring fireplace of those pioneers 

The prayerful aspirations of a people 

Conceived were in toil and mutual care. 

Mid straiten'd circumspection, long delay. 

Too early marriages, ofttimes too fruitful. 

The future was brought forth with fortitude. 

Honor and self-sacrifice were instill'd 

In the young heart by precept and hard work. 

The genuine religion of home life 

And common duty, whose foundations rest 

37 



Deep in the human consciousness of God 
In nature and in all things, but in Christ 
Chiefly, and in the Scriptural Eevelations 
Which testify of Him. 

Many of those hard. 
Straight hickories, those oak, ehn, beech, hack, sugar, 
Those gray-ash, with their bark still clinging, lie, 
Straight-hewn and heavy, in our big log barn. 
Piled upward to the rafters, in rude strength 
Dividing mow from mow, and all together 
With sapling roof -poles, shingles of split oak. 
And heavy oaken floors, tell a plain tale 
Of builders rude with whom our boy forefathers 
Toird in the days of skulking redmen here 
Among these rolling hills, to build log houses 
And lay foundations for a state. Their cabin 
Long gone, the old two-story mansion, gone, 
This lone big landmark of the past remains. 
Soon it must follow them and give its room 
And strong material to more modem structures. 
Farm buildings more in keeping with these times, 
Less inconvenient, less wasteful of space 
And of precious timber; just as those great forests. 
Valuable in themselves and for their day. 
Now yield their life to maize and morning glories, 
To wheatfields and to bluegrass grazing lands, 
Where, in the fullness of God's time grew up 
Among our native flora these escapes, 
Now wild as they. Old herbs medicinal. 
Brought hither from the settlements back East, 
And from the gardens of far Germany^ 
Sunflowers, four-o'clocks, all are giving way 
To more luxuriant beauties from the tropics, 
And to the latest of man's many new 
Developments from nature as he finds her. 

88 



So we advance. Last June in this old lane 

Here bloom'd the sweet briar rose, I thought the fairest 

Of all the summer flowers, each most fair. 

So fresh and happy was I then it seem'd 

My joys must never cease. But long, hot days 

In fierce succession wearied. Now recurs 

The gentler season of cool summer nights. 

And I enjoy weed flowers flaming gayly 

By roadside and in pasture fields, where chirp 

The crickets in still twilight. Through deep woods 

Alone with God I walk, or with dear friends 

Who come to see us in our country home, 

Or with my laughing children, or at nightfall 

With Gertrude, sweet companion of my heart. 

Only yesterday afternoon we harness'd 

And drove our gentle gray with loving friends 

Toward Greenville Falls, there a brief Sabbath hour 

To spend in quiet mood. We watch'd the water 

That pours so softly down its limestone shelves 

Along low cliffs where ferns and flowers hang, 

Not in profusion wild and grand, and yet 

Because so near our home, a noble scene. 

And fraught with sacred memories. The true-hearted 

Who from our circle silently we miss'd. 

Ah, how we long'd for them ! The children romp'd 

And gathered blooms by handfuls, calling us. 

And running to our sides that we their posies 

Might smell: and every fragrance, every sound 

Seem'd not of sadness, but of rest; and love 

Unspoken filPd each bosom, whether gravely 

Or with accompanying laughter we conversed. 

When through the sunset homeward in our carriage 
Contentedly we moved, our voices blended 
In thankful hymn, not loudly, till the children 
Had fallen asleep, and over the deep woods 

39 



The rosy moon, more and more visible. 

Hallowed the silence and grew large and bright 

Above Stillwater Valley, lighting up 

For miles its peaceful farms and villages 

And church towers. Then we dipt below the leaves. 

Below the hill, and crost the red iron bridge, 

Where the brook murmurs through our farm, turn'd in 

The shadowy lane under the weeping willows. 

And out again in sight of the full moon. 

There at our cottage dooryard tenderly 

We carried in the little loves; and I, 

When the freed horse was snorting in the pasture. 

Here on the hillside in the misty moon 

My cattle, by the tinkling of their bells 

I found, here milk'd them, while the silvery dew 

Sparkled beneath my feet upon the grass; 

And through the damp night air crickets kept up 

Their old familiar never-varying song; 

The stars watched, and an old cow now and then 

Sighed with deep satisfaction; and the trees 

Lifted their drooping foliage, and listened. 



Cfte (SoIDen Summer CIOUD0 

Oft in the golden summer clouds at even 
I see new wonders; and my Father speaks. 
How gently to His child, of happier scenes. 
To which those golden vistas of bright days, 
Pure thoughts, and holy aspirations lead. 
O may my life be ever in His sight 
Just, even as He is just, and to His will 
Devoted, that my Heaven be not postponed, 
But brightened with His presence, till all Earth 
Shine as the clouds at sunset, and devoutly 
Through Death's last flaming portal into Life, 
With filial obedience I go 

40 



To meet my Father at the Beautiful Gate. 

Not through exalted moments of the mind. 

Fixed like a statue on some lonely hill. 

But with what sense of welcome horn, a strain 

Of music, into that sweet intercourse 

Where myriads are nohle in God's sight. 

Nor ever feel propensity again 

Thence to debase themselves, but love and blossom 

To new advancement in God's workmanship. 



Wiinttt ^omim 

I rise and look out at the window. Love, 
And all the stars are shining. While I dress 
Lie thou and take thy needful morning sleep. 
And I will tiptoe downstairs with the lamp. 
And build the kitchen fire, the table set 
For breakfast, and our patient creatures greet 
With lantern in the stable where they chew 
Me^ly their fodder. Frosty are the nights. 
Wholesome and stinging cold. When the room 's warm. 
Or when thou wilt, come down and dress thyself 
By jealous lamplight, yellow in the dawn, 
Leaving the wee ones to surprise us late, 
When from their natural rest, bewilder'd half, 
They wake and rub their sleepy eyes, looking 
For us. Then they '11 grope down, and smile "Good Morn- 
ing," 
And dr^s before the kitchen fire and eat 
Their porridge from their little porringers. 
So we '11 begin another busy day. 
With thankful hearts, lifting our prayer to Heaven: 
That thus may we ever be honest people. 
And bring our children up to work and play 
Contentedly and in the sight of God. 

41 



Winter now hath vanished; 

Northward far he blows, 
Freezing fingers with his breath. 

And piling high the snows. 
Come, gentle Spring, with all thy flowers, 

Come, bind thy poet's brows. 

Come, rose-crowned Summer, 

Warm from purple seas. 
Pregnant buds are swelling 

On shrubs and vines and trees. 
Come, rose-crowned Summer, 

Bring thy happy days. 

Summer in her beauty 

Seeth Spring advance, 
Strewing Earth with dandelions; 

Blithe Cupids with her dance, 
Grace in every motion. 

Love in every glance. 

Swallows round them twitter. 

Circling through the air. 
Orioles and robins call, 

Lark and thistlefare; 
Eagles, hitch'd with sunbeams. 

Draw a golden car. 

In the car, on violets, 

Lies a sleeping Love: 
Round her virgin loveliness. 

And in the sky above. 
Wrens chirp, and fairies, noiselessly. 

On grackle, crane and dove, 

42 



Through the air are gliding 
Northward with great speed. 

Scattering behind them 
Morning-glory seed. 

Dahlia, aster, goldenrod 
And purple ironweed. 

Eor flowers in the Autumn 
Are beautiful and bright; 

They fill the air with color. 
The bosom with delight: 

By roadside, in meadow, 
Violet and white; 

There a flame of scarlet 
Near the woods is seen; 

Orange, black, and lavender, 
'Mid shades of simple green. 

Where sunbeams, through grasses. 
Weave a twinkling screen. 

There, rising, and falling. 
And swaying in the breeze. 

Little birds, alighting. 
Chirp soft melodies; 

And butterflies and dragons. 
Whom no one ever sees, 

Flutter in the sun. 

Flutter in the sky, 
Mutter, flutter everywhere. 

Till in the night they die. 
And down among dead weeds 

In tangled grasses lie. 

The Autumn winds go sighing 
Among the forest leaves, 

43 



And the rain all night 

Drips from the vines in the eaves. 
The red leaves are falling, 

And the yellow leaves. 

Then when Indian Summer 

Fadeth, ah, too soon, 
On frosty nights all glitter 

Under the clear moon. 
Or glare in icy mail 

To the sun at noon. 

Final skill most wondrous. 

When the soft snow showera 
Fall with feathery crystals 

Through the long night hours. 
And happy children welcome 

The world of white-robed flowers ! 

Then all praise the Winter, 

Season of good cheer, 
Liveliest, severest. 

Most wholesome of the year. 
To them that love each other 

Every day is dear. 

Coil 

Is there no toil in Heaven ? Say not so ! 

No nights like this, with silvery moonbeams 

Pouring their flood of rapture on my soul ? 

As well say, flowers no more, nor any love. 

No joyous recognition. Who can shadow 

Out of imperfect thought what Scenes Immortal 

God of His unimaginable strength 

Builds ? And with rapturous love, our Father still. 

Through changed himianities forever rising, 

44 



A nobler Race, and yet a higher Heaven 
Will build? Doth not God toil to make man just? 
To simplify and help him follow stoutly 
His clean intentions? Who but loves to seek 
Daily his children's comfort and instruction? 
Shall mortal man deny that bliss to God 
Which maketh man immortal? Toil is life! 
Be it but provident, the one sure force 
That opes all doors to universal freedom. 
Sane, sober, honest, strong, intelligent toil. 
Who, without toil, hath ever found true rest? 
Who, without toil, hath ever found God great? 
Who are the overcomers, the true conquerors? 
Who heroes? kings? who saints? deliverers? 
Have any without toil been anything. 
Done anything, learned anything? Not Christ! 
God rest thy soul : go, give such thinking rest. 
Turn thy industrious blood into main channels 
To any trade, so it be wholesome and useful. 
Toil, body, toil! God toileth; Angels toil! 
Else whence their goodness? Paradise? Thy brain. 
Thy hands, thy spirit here their Eden shall find. 
Here their Sublime Repose, their Judgment Day, 
With many a new outgoing toward a higher, 
A holier Promised Land. Determine Christlike 
To do His will Who made you, and to that 
Give all thy mind, thy strength, thy spirit. Wisdom 
God in that hour will give thee. Not till then. 

Sparkle the cold snow crystals 
Where roses wild we found; 

Soft : a sparrow whistles ! 
The familiar sound 

Stirs the sleeping flowers 
In the frozen ground. 

45 



High in naked elmtops, 

Hid by flurries of snow, 
Singing, singing, singing. 

And rocking to and fro, 
Oarest not, wee birdie, 

Whether March winds blow? 

When one heart rejoices 
All the earth seems glad I 

Little birds their voices, 
High above our head, 

Though no one seems listening, 
Shower forth like mad! 

Fortunate the poet 

Who like thee can live. 
Sing his joys and sorrows. 

Be generous and forgive. 
Many simple blessings 

Thankful hearts receive. 

dBntJop 

When folks out here go anywhere 

To see anybody, I declare! 

They always say when they start away: 

"Well, come and see us and spend the day !" 

"Yes, we will, you come again; 

You 're always welcome, no matter when !" 

That is, you know, if you happen to go 

Where you are welcome, you soon feel so; 

Which might be said in such a case 

Of any people and every place! 

But somehow here they have a knadc 

Of welcoming and inviting back 

With an open hospitality 

It always does one good to see! 

46 



And now, where'er my book may go, 

I hope 't will please its readers so 

That a kind welcome thus 't will meet 

Erom hearts that keep the old World sweet ! 

I trust I may invited be 

With a generous hospitality 

To come again, to stay be pressed, 

And urged to be a frequent guest; 

Till I can feel full well aware 

That a welcome waits me everywhere; 

For a hearty, sincere handgrasp 's worth 

More to a poet than all the Earth! 

A singer cannot sing his best 

Where he feels he is not a welcome guest. 

And yet, so well do I think of men 

That whether they ask me back again. 

Or overlook my little book, 

I still will sing in my quiet nook. 

Among the rolling Ohio hills, 

Down whose valleys ripple the rills ! 

I still will praise our Father's Love, 

Still learn His Wisdom and sing thereof; 

Will teach my children of Christ and live 

In Him, forgiven as I forgive. 

Bo flowers bloom to be seen? Does the bird 

Sing in yon thicket to be heard? 

And shall the poet pine away 

Because no listeners attend his lay? 

How fortunate all people are. 

If they only know it! for not far. 

But very near about us all 

God's Welcome awaits our knock and call! 

The good in every neighborhood 

Ever are looking for the Good; 

The traveler content will find 

47 



Nowhere on Earth but in the Mind; 

The laborer in his bosom bears 

The Antidote for all his cares; 

The poet in his simple theme 

Enters the Universal Dream, 

Records the beat of God's Great Heart, 

And of His Purpose becomes a part. 

Then look no farther than at thy feet 

Good fortune in this world to meet: 

The soul that seeks divine content 

Must at the hand of God be spent; 

Must go where oft no welcome is, 

No friendship oftentimes but His; 

Must without thought of recompense 

Urge common with uncommon sense; 

With Christlike rectitude of mind 

Must kindly deal with the unkind; 

Without a doubt within, without. 

Must conquer, singing, and move about 

In a world where all men should be brothers, 

Building up a Welcome for others! 

Then let us all be glad and play. 

And work and sing and live to-day! 

Where we happen is just the place 

Where God is Love and Christ is Grace! 

The past we would not all forget; 

The future will be better yet! 

But in an endless, beginningless Now 

We breathe God's Life, and are learning how 

So to labor and love and learn 

That the swift hours, which never return, 

Into high secrets will receive us. 

And wiser every moment leave us, 

Till in that World where Angels beckon, 

Where a Welcome waits ua all, we waken, 

48 



ft 16 \l 



018 378 222 8 



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